


On Hong Kong Protest 1

by Highwind96



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen, Hong Kong, Protests
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-11-23
Updated: 2019-11-23
Packaged: 2021-02-26 06:47:44
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 730
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21529312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Highwind96/pseuds/Highwind96
Summary: A British reporter came across a protester.
Kudos: 4





	On Hong Kong Protest 1

**Author's Note:**

> I simply need to show my concern for the HK protest somewhere.  
> If you read it, you have my utmost thanks.

Last night I passed through the bridge that was set on fire and saw a single man tossing gasoline bomb at the police. He was wearing all black, a yellow helmet, and a gas mask. When he drew back temporarily, I walked up to him, cautious of the potential rubber bullets from all directions. A microphone clutched tightly in the hand casually concealed behind my back, I could hear my own breathing inside my mask. People had laughed at my decision to come here, but I would prove them wrong. If I died, all the more better, because there would then be news of a British reporter killed in the protest, but I did not wish to die, that was as simple as that.

The man took me as a brother and walked towards me. We said nothing until we walked to somewhere safer. I stole a glance at him, wondering when I should ask him for an interview. The gears and straps clinked as the man sat down on the ground. He started to examine his remaining bombs, the silence stretched on like a thin line at the brink of snapping. I squirmed in where I sat, a few meters away from him: It looked like he did not want to be disturbed, but I might not get a second chance as good as this one. I looked up again, and saw the man beckoning me with a gloved hand. I blinked, and looked again.

“Do you wish to join me?”

“Me? I…” 

“Well, I’m not asking you to. But you walked up to me, so I thought…”

“The truth is,” I swallowed hard, “I…I am a reporter from England.”

Maybe it was the gas mask, but if the man was surprised, he showed no signs of it. He looked at me from head to toe and back again. Under his scrutinising, I felt bare and open, despite all the gears and clothing I wore. When I still said nothing, he bade me to ask away. So I began. There was no hesitation in his answers, always so quick and firm, like an instinct of the body to a sudden stimulus.

“Can you tell us why you do this?”

“Because there isn’t anyone else.”

“But do you want to do this?”

“Yes.”

“What do you think it is that makes you different from the others?”

“I have nothing left to lose.”

“Would you mind explaining a bit more?”

“No friends, no family, they all died.”

“Are you afraid?”

“No.”

At this moment my asking stopped. I looked at him incredulously. There was no more I could ask and get from such a man just cared about nothing. Standing face to face, I saw no emotion behind his mask, not a slight twitch on the corner of his mouth, not a slight frown, only the automatic batting of his eyelids from time to time. Suddenly, a chilling sensation crept up my spine at the realisation: Has the government turned a mere human into this? Staring at the creature standing before me in the shape of a man, I wanted to get away from it as quickly as possible, but I found my feet rooted in the ground. I could not move a single inch.

“Yes.”

I visibly jumped at the sound that jolted me out of my speculation. Was it a sound that resembled a yes? I did not know when, but I must have turned my head away at some point, so I risked another look towards the direction of the sound. Yes. The same sound came again. I did not know if it was only in my imagination, but it seemed to crack at the end. I hoped to find some clues from the face but I dared not look, fearing what I would see. Hanging my head in defeat, my heart skipped a beat as my eyes caught a left hand clenched in a fist; its trembling almost undetectable.

But I was a reporter. A sense of relief washed over me and I felt my strength returning. Drawing a deep breath, I spoke into the microphone, thanking him for the interview, trying hard not to let my emotions overwhelm my voice. Then I turned to leave, my paces lighter than those when I came, forgetting even to ask about what on earth he was afraid of.


End file.
